VANESSA

For the next few days, Vanessa did what she did best, she built walls.

She steered clear of Vincent unless it was about work, keeping her interactions precise and professional. 

At the Viaqueza estate, she took her meals in her bedroom, avoiding Vincent in any way she could. She convinced herself it was easier this way. That it was safer.

She spent hours in the RPV2 cybersecurity division, poring over data, tracking the remnants of the copycat hacker’s activity. She worked through the numbers, studied Blackthorn’s inner workings, searching for something... anything, to tip the scales back in their favor.

But no matter how much she buried herself in work, she couldn’t shake the weight of his words from their last encounter.

"Are you just a pawn, Vanessa?"

She clenched her jaw at the memory.

No.

She wouldn’t be a pawn. But she wasn’t about to be Vincent’s queen, either.

And yet, no matter how much distance she put between them, it was impossible to escape his presence.

He was everywhere.

In the way the estate staff subtly glanced at her whenever she entered a room, like they already knew this was more than just business.

In the hushed conversations between Andrew and Marisse, discussing the “Vanessa variable” like she was an unknown equation yet to be solved.

In the way Voltaire watched her with calculated amusement, as if waiting for her to break the very rule she had set for herself...stay away from Vincent.

And worst of all, in Vincent himself.

Because he never once sought her out.

Never asked why she was avoiding him.

Never knocked on her door.

And that was the real mind game.

Because it meant he wasn’t chasing her.

He was letting her run.

And he was waiting. 

So, Vanessa decided to do the unexpected. Play the part of the spoiled high society debutante.

Encouraged by Vincent's PR manager Rachelyn, Vanessa finally indulged her high society friends’ suspicions by agreeing to a long-overdue lunch and shopping meet-up.

And she immediately felt a twinge of resistance rising even before stepping out of the Viaqueza Estate's main house.

As she reached the foyer, Zeke approached her, his usual stoic expression unreadable. “Rachelyn mentioned your little excursion.” he said, voice clipped but polite. “You’ll be taking Peter with you. Standard protocol.”

Vanessa blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“No, ma’am. You take him with you to work. This isn’t any different.”

Vanessa sighed, already regretting agreeing to this outing. “It’s lunch. With friends. Not an op.”

Zeke didn’t budge. “Still under RPV2 protection. You know how it goes.”

Before she could roll her eyes harder than physics would allow, he handed her a sleek black credit card. “Vincent says feel free to use it. To your heart’s content.”

She stared at the card like it had insulted her bloodline. “Seriously?”

Zeke only gave a small shrug. “His words.”

Vanessa took the card with a raised brow, mentally filing this under questions to weaponize later. 

Was this his way of apologizing for being the asshole who bought out her father’s ISP company out of spite? 

She breathed through her nose and slipped the card into her wallet anyway.

By the time she arrived at the restaurant in BGC Taguig, a chic Asian-European fusion place with paparazzi-proof booths and truffle oil in every dish, Vanessa was already bracing herself for the whirlwind that was her inner circle.

The country's most eligible bachelors may have had tabloids in a chokehold, but they paled in comparison to the trio waiting for her: Natalia, Nicole, and Alessandra...The wicked queens of high society and Vanessa’s closest friends since college.

These women were the real powerhouses: daughters of senators, oil tycoons, and banking magnates. They thrived in silk gloves and diamond-dusted claws, ruling gala circuits and boardrooms alike. And right now, they were thrilled to see Vanessa in the flesh after months of nothing more than glossy photos and late-night DMs.

Nicole was the first to strike, barely letting Vanessa sit. “So... Vincent Viaqueza?” she purred.

Vanessa didn’t flinch. “We’re working together. That’s all.”

The ladies exchanged knowing smirks as the waiter set down their wine. Natalia raised a brow. “Working closely, I assume?”

Vanessa smirked but refused to take the bait. Instead, they dove into gossip. Corporate scandal, new art collections, the quiet divorce of an ambassador’s daughter. Atleast until the topic inevitably circled back to Vanessa again.

She braced herself. She was at the center of one of society’s juiciest rumors.

So, she leaned in, sipped her wine, and launched her anti-hate campaign. “I’m now part of RPV2 Holding’s Digital Platform Management Team,” she said smoothly, “focusing on system upgrades and internal restructuring. It’s strictly professional.”

“Sure,” Alessandra teased, “and I eat gluten-free because I love sadness.”

Vanessa laughed, unable to help it. They weren’t buying her denials, not entirely, but at least they weren’t sharpening claws.

After lunch, they strolled through high-end boutiques, a path paved with gossip and gold. And somewhere between the glass displays and velvet carpets, Vanessa made a decision.

If Vincent wanted to be petty and grand, she could be grander.

So she marched her friends into the most exclusive couture store on the block and picked out three designer bags, each outrageously priced and unmistakably on-brand for the women who wielded influence like a blade.

"My treat, ladies." Vanessa grinned most wickedly as she handed the cashier the black credit card.

Natalia gasped when she saw the credit card. “Is that his?”

Nicole gave an exaggerated laugh. “My father would cut off my hands if I even looked at his.”

“Must be nice,” Alessandra added with a smug tilt of her chin, snapping a photo of her new arm candy hand bag.

Vanessa, lips curled in a wicked smile, leaned in and said, “Post them. Hashtag it.”

Nicole's eyes sparkled. “You’re kidding.”

Vanessa didn’t blink. “#ThankYouVincent.”

They all shrieked with delight like the terrors of society they were and made sure their photos were lit, flawless. And most importantly, viral.

Unbeknownst to Vanessa, Vincent was in the War Room of the RPV2 Tower, watching the hashtag explode across platforms.

He sighed through his nose, lips tugging into the barest of smirks as he turned to Zeke before he left. "I guess you were right, Zeke. Giving her the card was a little too much on the nose."

Zeke grinned, "Give it time, Vincent. You'll learn how to treat your lady right."

He wasn't even surprised when Rachelyn, his PR strategist came running in his office that evening. "Sir, we may have an issue that's getting out of hand."

“Let me guess,” came Vincent’s dry voice as she rushed in, holding a tablet displaying the viral trend. “This wasn’t the PR we were aiming for?"

"You look like a generous syndicate lord, sir. This is not exactly the narrative we want.”

Vincent didn’t even look up from the documents he was signing. “I don’t care what narrative high society writes. My ego can take the hit.”

“But Vincent, sir---”

“Let her have one day of fun, Rachelyn.” He finally looked at her. “I can afford to give her that much.”

His PR manager was clearly surprised with his leniency but Vincent did not indulge her with a reason for it. "You may go."

*******

For the next few days, Vanessa continued to keep her distance from Vincent, seeing him only when work demanded it. And even then, she was all clipped professionalism and cool detachment. No drawn-out silences. No locked eyes across conference tables. No lingering tension.

Even at the Viaqueza estate, she avoided shared spaces, and left the living room before he entered.

It wasn’t about fear.

It was about control.

Because being near him felt like a game she didn’t remember agreeing to, and one she wasn’t sure she could win.

So she buried herself in the cybersecurity division, tracking digital threats and diving headfirst into system upgrades.

Within a few weeks, Vanessa had successfully embedded herself in the IT team, focusing on the cyber war unfolding behind screens, believing she was gaining back control.

But even then, she couldn’t escape him.

Not really.

He was in the way office staff glanced at her like they knew more than they let on. In the way Yaya Belen seemed unusually kinder as if atoning for Vincent's incapacity to admit his wrong.

But worst of all, Vincent remained indifferent.

And that was the most dangerous move of all.

Because just as she was convincing herself she could shift her attention back to the digital battlefield, a knock came at her door.

Sharp. Firm.

She froze.

"Vanessa."

Vincent’s voice. Low. Calm. Unreadable.

*******